


Don't you EVER do that again!

by BurntWhisky1



Series: Tempted [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Requested tag bottom Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12492296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntWhisky1/pseuds/BurntWhisky1
Summary: Dean puts himself in danger,Sam is furious.There are consequences.





	Don't you EVER do that again!

**Author's Note:**

> continued from 'One step at a time'

 

In the end, Dean just falls asleep. One minute Sam is lying there, in silent awe that he has him tucked against his shoulder and is being allowed to rub soothing patterns on his back, and the next minute Dean gives a soft sigh and becomes suddenly heavier and looser. This isn't the first time Dean has fallen asleep tucked up next to him, it's just the first time in a very long time, because it's been a very long time since they were kids, jammed together in innocent sleep in one narrow bed or the back of the Impala.

Sam risks a crick in his neck and peers down at his brother, getting a little, fierce clench in his chest when he sees Dean's face all relaxed in sleep, his long eyelashes spread out over pale cheek bones and the bruised skin around his left eye. Suddenly he doesn't look tough at all.

It's probably not a good idea to let him sleep too long, not with warning signs of a possible concussion, but Sam doesn't have the heart to wake him just yet. He's determined to stay awake himself, but the warm weight against his side is soporific and the next thing he knows the shrill of his cell 'phone is startling them both awake.

There's a job, rogue ghost, one state away.

Dean's a little bashful, which isn't like him, but insists he's fine, which is very much normal behavior. They're back on the road without delay and despite not being a hundred percent Dean insists on driving. That's normal too, so Sam lets him get away with it although he keeps sending sly glances in his direction until Dean’s face pulls into a warning frown. Some things never change.

Everything goes well and the salt'n'burn is progressing nicely when life takes one of its random little turns and produces the deceased's living husband, who obviously takes major exception to the exhumation of his beloved in the middle of the night.

Sam's initial gratitude that the man doesn't possess a firearm is proved mis-placed when he produces not only a much-used baseball bat, but also a hefty swing to go with it. It's a swing that nearly takes off Sam's head, but doesn't due to the fact that Dean throws himself out of the open grave and takes the brunt of the blow.

Sam has always hated seeing his brother hurt but somehow now his protective instinct is impossibly stronger than before. He gets back on his feet, sees Dean in a crumpled heap of jeans and jacket and only just manages to restrain himself enough to avoid sending the aggrieved husband to join his wife in the afterlife.

Fortunately the unquiet spirit chooses this moment to appear and the bereaved husband is so shocked at her violent behavior that the aggression runs out of him like pus from a sore, leaves him a shaking mess and effectively takes him out of the game.

Dean is on his feet before Sam has finished re-filling the grave and they're back on the road as soon as possible, grateful that it's dark and that they parked out of sight, not that it's too likely the traumatized man will be reporting anything anytime soon.

Sam keeps his peace until they're two counties away and Dean has shut the door of their new motel room behind them. Then he puts his duffle bag on the floor, very calm, very quiet and turns to face Dean.

"What the hell was that?"

Dean looks over, startled, his forehead pinching in a frown.

"What was what?"

It's not unreasonable that he doesn't know what Sam is talking about. After all it's been a couple of hours since Dean was sprawled in a graveyard, they're both tired and Dean is as white as a sheet. It's perhaps this last thing that makes Sam see red and curls his fingers into fists so tight his blunt nails dig into his palms.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

It comes out as a snarl and the release of pent up anxiety gets Sam up close and personal in his brother's space so fast that Dean's expression is jerked into shocked and confused. It _is_ Sam though, so his natural instincts to be aggressive and defensive are held back by some built-in little brother delay-switch.

"Sam?" His voice is unsure and up this close the dark bruises under his eyes are painfully obvious.

Sam feels his lip curl, knows he’s pulling a bitch face to beat all bitch faces, but doesn’t care. “You’re hurt.” He pokes his finger into Dean’s chest with some vigor. “You're already hurt. Again! So what crazy notion made you think jumpin’ in front of that psycho was a smart idea?”

A flare of anger lights Dean’s eyes from within. “That asshat was gonna take your head off!”

“So you thought you’d let him take yours off instead?”

Sam finds he has Dean’s shirt front bunched in his fingers, gives him a little shake to emphasise his point. Dean’s eyes narrow to slits and a part of Sam’s brain is wondering why he isn’t already on his ass with a fist print in his face. The other part grinds to a halt, transfixed by the stretch of pale skin over cheekbones and the way his brother’s jaw muscles are clenching along his jaw. Belligerent green fire burns between dark lashes and Sam loves him like this, all spit and vinegar and facing down the storm. He’s ready and waiting when Dean makes a sharp movement with his arm and breaks Sam’s hold on his shirt, he grasps him immediately on either side of his torso and drops backwards onto the wooden floor. Dean, surprised, falls on top of him with a little “oof” of escaping air.

They’ve wrestled often enough that Sam knows exactly where to put his legs and arms so he can flip Dean over onto his back and throw himself bodily on top of him. Dean swears, an ugly word Sam hasn’t heard him use too often, and tries to break Sam’s hold but Sam already has a forearm across his throat and Dean's airway and room to move are strictly limited.

“Enough,” says Sam. He’s surprised how hard his voice is, how the shake makes him sound dangerously angry. “I’ve had enough.”

“Enough what?” Dean is muffled and enraged, his legs trying to get purchase to throw Sam off.

Sam rams his thigh in between his brother’s and leans a little harder on his throat. “Enough of you putting yourself in danger for me.” He leans in close, his nose almost brushing Dean’s; his brother goes a little cross-eyed trying to focus on him as he struggles and a red stain spreads across his cheekbones.

“Don’t…you…EVER…do…that…again!”  Venom drips in Sam's tone.

A fleck of spittle lands on Dean’s cheek. He convulses, trying again to throw Sam off. Another move and he’ll succeed but the writhe of his brother’s body beneath him has set something aflame inside Sam. He frees Dean’s throat and smashes his mouth down on the parted lips, kissing hard. Dean is still for a shocked second and then bites him, sinking his teeth into Sam’s bottom lip. Sam pulls back his head in surprise, swipes at the blood on his lip with his finger and finds himself thrown aside.

“Bitch,” he says, without rancor.

“That’s you, Sam, remember.” Dean is nearly back on his feet and Sam grabs at his knees, toppling him back onto the floor and hooking a long leg over his brother’s kicking limbs.

“Stop,” says Sam. “Just stop a minute.”

And maybe there’s something in his tone that gives away some of the torture inside because Dean stops struggling and flops back against the hard wooden floor. He’s breathing hard and a fleeting expression in his eyes suggests he’s kind of glad to just lie back for a moment.

Sam’s chest fills with a tearing emotion he can’t begin to describe, even to himself.

“Sorry,” he says, all wrong-pitched and Dean squints at him suspiciously. Sam hangs his head so his hair covers his eyes, because suddenly they’re full and he really doesn’t want to cry, again, in front of his brother.

“Sammy?” says Dean, and when he hears the soft tone in that simple word Sam knows it will be okay and his big brother still loves him. His hold loosens and he tugs Dean closer, leaning over him to press a gentle kiss on his lips.

“I love you,” he says simply and Dean jerks beneath him.

“Sonofabitch,” he mutters against Sam’s mouth, sounding all winded, then his eyes go a little wild and he kisses Sam back. Sam pulls him in tight, close, his hand sliding down over the material of Dean’s shirt and fastening on the firm curve of his ass.

Dean moves his hand and Sam’s shirt is undone, a button popping free and pinging across the floor as his hand slips up over Sam’s ribs and tugs at a nipple before sliding under his arm and roaming across the hard muscles of his back.

The kiss deepens, tongues winding and writhing as they push into each other, anger replaced by something deeper. Sam runs his hand down and fondles the hard swelling in the front of his brother’s pants. Dean whines a little in response and pushes up against him and Sam fumbles eagerly at his own zipper, his erection painful against the metal until it is freed to bulge against his brother’s thigh. He grinds in against the denim, hard, needing the friction, needing more.

“Dean?” he says, breathless and Dean is wriggling out of his jeans, lets Sam tug off his boots and rip his shirt and t-shirt over his head. He’s pulling at Sam’s clothes and Sam obliges until they’re both naked on a crumpled pile of clothing.

Sam stops for a moment, a soft smile on his face as he looks down at the pink flush on his brother’s cheekbones. Gently, with awe, he runs a finger down Dean’s face, trails it down the side of his throat and across his chest, lets his fingertips slip over the ripple of rib and abs and the dip and curve of hip bones. Dean’s breath catches and his pupils dilate as the fingers slide into the hair in his groin, curve under warm, full balls and ghost up and over his rigid cock.

“Uh,” he says and his heart is beating so fast that Sam can see it moving the skin of his chest.

“I want you,” Sam says, kissing him slow and deep. “Can I?”

Dean goes white around his nostrils and his jaw goes tight, but he takes a deep breath and nods, a little jerky motion.

“Sam?”

And Sam knows what he means and he strokes Dean’s ass with a careful hand. “Slow,” he says. “Nice and slow.”

He kisses Dean again, lingering over the taste of his lips, then slides down his body, laps at his balls with a gentle tongue and gradually works his way down until he can nose Dean’s ass cheeks apart. Cautiously his tongue quests, finds the furl of flesh and works at it gently.

Dean moans quietly, his eyes wide as he cranes his neck to watch his brother. He looks vulnerable and unbearably sexy and Sam raises his head and smiles, dragging his tongue up slowly until he can take Dean’s cock in his mouth. His brother’s head drops back against the floor with a dull thunk and he lets out a little sigh of pleasure as his fingers curl into Sam's hair. It makes Sam’s groin throb and he takes Dean deep into his mouth, sucking intensely until he tastes the salty tang of pre-come. He pulls off then, grinning at the whine of protest as the tight flesh is left exposed to the cool air.

Dean’s ass cheeks part readily as Sam’s tongue slips back between them. He works carefully, using tongue and fingers to loosen and moisten, occasionally massaging Dean’s balls and working fingers over his erection until his brother is splayed and ready, his sighs becoming more breathy and a deep flush spreading over his chest.

“Can I?” repeats Sam, with longing in his voice.

“Yeah. Dammit Sam, yeah.” Dean’s head is thrown back and Sam moves up and slides his tongue across his mouth, pushes it inside with a firm fucking motion so Dean can taste himself on Sam’s mouth. Dean gasps, bucks instinctively upwards, his hands grasping at his brother, pulling him closer, raw need in his eyes.

“Turn over,” breathes Sam, tugging at his brother’s hip and Dean rolls obligingly, coming up onto his knees and elbows, his perfect ass in the air, cheeks parted. Sam is behind him in a second, shoves his tongue inside and checks with wet fingers that his brother is ready. “I don’t have anything.”

“Just do it,” says Dean and he is shaking with want and nerves and so Sam shuffles forward until one knee is between his brother’s, his other knee raised as he leans forwards, guiding his swollen cock to the pink, wet entrance. Carefully he pushes just inside; Dean makes a noise of discomfort and pulls away a little but the movement is arrested by the firm grip of Sam’s hand on his hip.

“Steady,” whispers Sam, spitting into his hand and slipping it around the entrance. “Steady.” Then he takes a firm hold of his brother's hip bones with both big hands and pushes, just a little more and then a little more, teeth gritted in concentration, in and in until Dean is making a high, startled sound that is half pain and half need and finally Sam is seated, deep inside, fully inside, Dean’s hot, wet warmth surrounding him in silken folds of muscle.

Sam swears softly, the pressure in his balls growing and the need to move immense. “Dean, I gotta…”

He begins to move, slowly at first, working through his brother’s pants of distress, fingers sliding on the sheen of sweat on Dean's skin, pulling him back harder and harder until the angle of penetration is just right and suddenly Dean’s tone alters, a deep groan pulled out of his chest that makes Sam’s balls pulse.

“Yes,” says Sam, “That’s it.”

He begins to fuck into Dean properly, rubbing the end of his cock over the sensitive spot deep inside, momentum building until he is slamming into his prostrate with every stroke. Dean makes a noise that makes heat gather in Sam’s spine and he can’t hold back any longer, leans forwards some more and takes hold of Dean’s shoulder with one large hand. His brother’s back arches and he cries out, pushing himself urgently onto Sam’s cock.

Sam feels the flutter around his cock as the movement of Dean's hips stutter and he goes rigid, jerking spasmodically. White cum spurts and sprays across the floor and their clothes and the noise he makes is so hot that Sam gasps, buries himself deep and comes hard into his brother’s ass, his hips jerking and rutting uncontrollably until he collapses onto Dean’s back and they fall onto their sides on the floor, Sam still deep inside, spurts of cum leaking as he continues to push gently into his brother.

He wraps his arms around Dean, pulls him close against his chest, kissing his neck gently and stroking the sweat off his forehead.

“Love you, so much,” he breathes into the hollow between Dean’s neck and his shoulder. Dean sighs and clenches around him as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, your kudos and the encouraging comments on the series 'Tempted'. You're all awesome!


End file.
